


richie tozier; a guide to not being a functional dad

by Evanaissante



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Comedy, Cute Kids, Everybody Lives, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kid Fic, M/M, Richie Tozier Netflix Special, but also like demon kids because they're richie and eddie's, very very minor richie makes a joke but he doesnt actually take drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:59:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21607942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evanaissante/pseuds/Evanaissante
Summary: "Richie Tozier's new show "A Guide To Not Being A Functional Dad" touches the heart of its audience with its genuine themes, its originality and its simple but devastating comicality; a must-see." - some critics probably
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 23
Kudos: 340





	richie tozier; a guide to not being a functional dad

**Author's Note:**

> DEDICATED TO MY DISCORD SERVER BECAUSE I LOVE THOSE CHAOTIC BITCHES
> 
> this was written in two days and idk why it exists or why it's over 4K but just roll with it

Chicago audiences, as Richie knows, can always go two ways. Most of the time, and on good days, they’re the best possible crowd, they laugh easy, they’re energic, sometimes a guy will throw an empty cup of whiskey and coke, but it’s all in good fun and it’s the type of drunken bullshit Richie likes, the type that doesn’t make his skin itch when he thinks too long about it. Other times, the audience is still loud and responsive, but they fucking hate your guts and they’ll let you know it, they’ll boo you until they can hear it in Antarctica and whichever journalist was invited will write an article with a pun worthy title that basically calls you the biggest failure on this side of the hemisphere. It’s a ride or die audience, Richie loves doing Chicago shows as much as he fears them with his entire being.

It’s been four years since he came back with new material, he’s done some talk shows, he’s been in a few NBC shows and he voiced a character in a cartoon last year, but it’s been four years since he walked back on a stage and told jokes, Eddie would argue that their house is a stage and that Richie is a walking joke but Eddie doesn’t get to say anything before he gets his second cup of coffee. The last time Richie did a one-man show, he came out again and again, every night in forty-nine states (he doesn’t do shows in Maine, it’s a principle). After a while, saying “ _and that’s when I knew that my nickname should have been Dick and not Richie, because you_ **_are_ ** _what you eat_ ” on a daily basis lost it’s effect and he could spit every damn joke that had once paralyzed to put on paper without even blinking. The response to that show, to his history of bullying and repression mixed with jokes about Eddie’s red shorts and the undeniable queer power of Street Fighter, had been surprising, he hadn’t expected teenage girls to call him _too pure for this world_ as they got hold of candid pictures of him and made video of his face on various songs he didn’t understand a word of. But that’s what had happened and for a while after that, the majority of his fans and the people who showed up at his shows or bought merch and DVDs were sixteen years old.

Which is why he’s a little stressed out about this particular show, about this new material because he knows who is his target audience is now and he has absolutely nothing against LGBT kids coming to see him mock himself on stage as he gushes on and on about his husband and his rebel college tattoos, but this show isn’t as relatable as he could have made it for this particular demographic. Maybe because he’s almost fifty now, maybe because he’s always written about his life and his life isn’t just focused on Eddie’s abs and the joys of living with your hypochondriac soulmate. His life now is all about another type of tiny demon ruling his life, or more accurately, three little devil children who control his days and weeks like small lords of a country of two people (and a dog).

“Hello, Chicago!” He starts, already sweating, he hopes his black shirt will hide the patches of wetness that are growing on his back as he moves towards the centre of the stage and smiles, a bottle of water in one hand and his microphone in the other. “How are you doing tonight?”

He gets a row of applause as well as a very enthusiastic _fucking good, dude_ from the back of the room which he will count as a good enough start. He’s nervous, he can feel it as he tries twice to put his mic on his stand before giving up and holding it to his mouth. Maybe he should have accepted the Losers’ proposition of coming to this particular show, but they couldn’t have made Patty keep seven children all on her own, no matter how good she is at it. Richie also feels like he has to learn to do this alone once in a while, he’s forty-eight, it’s time.

“I see a lot of young faces in the audience, or maybe it’s the light, I’ve always been blind as a bat. If you’re not spitting your dentures out or smelling like boiled cabbage, I’ll probably always call you kiddo, that’s just a fact.”

He gets a few laughs from that, good, build up the ambience.

“That was my way to say that this show is for old people, by the way, I know, I’m not a really straight forward guy, but I think you’re all aware of how _not straight_ I am at this point.” He pauses, waiting for the laughter to die down before he continues, stress melting as he continues sweating.

“Yeah, so this show is for old bitches, or more accurately, old bitches with _children_ .” This gets a few cheers, surprising but welcomed. “I know right! I leave you all just four years and then I pop back with children, and not just one! I have _three_ , can you believe?”

He grins, a little proud, “I have three kids, two girls and a boy, which is fucking great, if I’m being honest, because a Quidditch team has seven players and I’m already three down, I’m at the half, guys.” Some people chuckle and others applaud politely but Richie is on a roll, “You can applaud, they’re pretty cool if I say so myself,” More people clap, some guy whistles, Richie feels like his smile grows ten sizes, “They’re funky children, I have to admit, I didn’t make them but I’m pretty satisfied with the quality. I mean, for gay couples, if you can’t have homemade children, storebought is fine.”

That gets a true roar of laughter and a few stunned gasps, he expected those too. He smiles, truly more confident now, “They’re not, actually, storebought, I know, shocker., I feel like Target really has everything these days but apparently no human children yet. I mean, I would have if I could have, do you know how hard it is to adopt children? You’d think that they’d want to actually find those kids some homes, but _no_ . You have to fill in papers and have psych evaluations, it’s a whole process. At first, I tried to play the _I’m famous_ card, right? But apparently, comedians who puke on stage before running off and disappearing for two months are not high on the Hollywood list of model parents. I wonder why.”

“All of this is, of course, to say that now I have mini-mes and that, since I have inquired little gold mines of ridiculous stories, I’ve based this entire show on the wonderful world of parenthood.” He makes a grand gesture with his hands and a girl in front of him snort so loud he hears her. “I live in Los Angeles, I’ve learned from many reality shows that you create content on the back of your devil offspring and then reap the profits.”

A few giggles. “No, but to be serious, and stay focused because this won’t happen twice, I mostly write my shows about my life and my routine. Did any of you come to my last show, raise a hand?” More than half of the room manifest itself and Richie feels momentarily touched by their fidelity, “Yeah so you probably all remember how I talked last time about my now husband but then boyfriend, Eddie?” Very eager cheers, because _of course_. “Oh please, this will go all to his head, four years ago he saw the Twitter accounts in his name and he started wearing his Gucci loafers in the streets, it was madness.” 

“But yeah, four years ago I wrote a show about learning to live with my childhood first love and how that was great but also sometimes I was certain that he was poisoning my chow mein because I wouldn’t take off my shoes when I came home.” He pauses to take a sip of his water, the spotlights are too warm for his liking but there’s not much he can do and he doesn’t even really feel it when he’s talking, he’s too concentrated. “This year, I couldn’t just tell you all about Spaghetti Jr, our dog, because, one; you all know the bastard, he has more followers on Instagram than me and two, I have three chaotic far less fluffy beasts to make fun off in front of thousands of people.”

He moves towards the right side of the stage, kicking his feet a little, “So like I said, I have two daughters, Grace and Leia, one of them was named by Eddie and one by me, I’ll let you guess who chose the name of a fictional space general.” He waits a few seconds for the joke to land then moves on, “And we have a son, Dominik with a k, whose name should have been redacted from this show because he didn’t get to have a short and easy name like our daughters, I don’t know why, we just decided to pick on him. I think that I unconsciously remembered that my full name is _Richard Wentworth_ and I was like, fuck this kid, he’s gonna be called Dominik with a k.” He smiles and then stage whispers, “We actually chose it very emotionally because it was the name of Eddie’s dad, but that isn’t funny and I’m looking for a raise after this show, I have diapers to pay now, so laugh louder, that would help.”

An old lady on the second row starts laughing so loud her wife has to shush her, Richie drowns his own giggle, “You know what’s fun about being a middle-aged comedian with three children who don’t know how to wipe their own butts? The _talc_ . Now, you may think that talc is pretty much the most boring shit invented and that I’m the most boring dude for talking about it, and you would be right, thank you for putting me in a box, but the fun thing with talc is that it gets _everywhere_.”

He puts his hands on his microphone to increase the sound, “I was meeting with my agent, a cool dude named Travis who pretty much lets me do whatever I want except cut my own hair and dress myself and honestly, I get that, he’s a smart dude. But anyway, I was meeting my agent Travis at this very fancy café in Santa Monica, the type of cafés where the coffee comes with no milk or sugar because the barista _knows_ , he’s heard your name, sensed your vibe, probably learned your zodiac sign by noticing if you cuff your jeans or not and he just _knows_ that you take two sugar and no milk because you’re that bitch, you know? It’s not important for you to know that, but it’s important for me.” A guy on his left chokes a little, maybe Santa Monica cafés’ baristas aren’t as relatable as New York pizza’s grease stains but the image is visual enough, that’s good for Richie. 

“Anyway, I arrived late, because I have three children, a Pomeranian and a mini-van. That doesn’t mean anything, by the way, I was late when I had no children, no dog and a Mustang but I feel like I have to remind you all that I have three children, a dog and a mini-van which basically means I’m more than married, I’m _Super Married_ .” He smiles and takes another gulp of water, “Travis was waiting for me and when I arrived, ten minutes later because that’s how I roll, he jumped up so fast that he almost dropped his cup of coffee that costs nine dollars and he grabbed me by the neck, made me walk to the back alley of the café and said _Richie, are you high?_ ”

He pauses, “Now, you might know where I’m going with this I’ve you’ve ever changed a child ever, but children have the weird tendency of _not staying fucking still_ when you change their diapers. When I changed my son that day, I dropped talc everywhere, didn’t change my _black_ shirt because I might be Super Married but I’m also a slob and when I met with Travis he thought I had snorted enough coke that my entire shirt was covered in it and that I wouldn’t have noticed it, in my drugged-up state.” He waits for the laughter to die down before he adds, “Do you imagine what that says about me? That my agent’s first reaction to seeing white powder on me is _Oh God he’s high_ and not _Oh he sucks at changing diapers_. It probably also says a lot about Travis that he thinks he pays me enough money for me to be fucking Tony Montana drowning in coke that I’m covered with it, but I get it, LA is a strange place.” 

He walks to the left side of the stage and sits on his stool, “This is my way of telling you that I might be married to a hot ass risk analysist, have three beautiful children and a dog who has Royal Canin sponsorships, but my life is still very much not in order.” He points at his shirt and pants, “See this? Pretty basic, right? All black, very neutral, very comedy show, basically anyone could pick this up and say _Yup! That sure is a black shirt!”_ He pauses again, locking eyes with a woman on the front row, “Not me.” He deadpans, “This was picked by a stylist because I’m that bad. When they asked me what I wanted to wear for this show, I showed up with a Transformers sweatshirt and acid-washed jeans.”

Someone gasps loudly and he nods, because that was exactly the reaction he expected, “That’s pretty much what Travis did too, and my stylist Bianca threw a hairbrush at my head, so as you can see, my life is not in order, or maybe it is but the type of order that only makes sense when you’re a college student living on instant noodles, energy drinks and seasonal depression. I don’t make sense for a balanced adult.” He grins, “Take my best friend Stanley for example, he’s pretty much the ideal man. He’s an accountant in a very successful firm, he’s got a lovely wife named Patricia, an awesome son named Joshua, who is also my godson because I rock like that, and his house cabinets have printed labels.” He waits a few seconds then throws his hands in the air, “No, you don’t seem to understand, he has a house, with cabinets, with printed _labels_.”

A guy in the back claps, Richie points to them, “Yes! Exactly! This is the right energy. Nobody who doesn’t have their lives in order, but like alphabetical order, has labelled cabinets. And Stan is the type of dad who isn’t only his son’s best friend but he’s also just a good dad? Like he’ll build Lego spaceships with Josh and play with a figure called Captain Pee Head but he’ll also just say _Joshua, it’s time for homework_ in his dad voice and the kid just… does it?” His Stan voice is so identical that he scares himself a bit, but he guesses that it’s only normal that after all this time he could imitate Stanley even asleep _and_ mute. 

“His dad voice is so powerful, it’s like a literal weapon of mass destruction. One time, we were at this fancy restaurant in Atlanta because that bitch needs to live away from all of us and he looked at me right in the eyes, used his dad voice and said _Richie get a side of salad instead of fries_ and you know what? I did it.” He stands up, as the room laughs happily and he walks to his microphone stand, he gets the mic in it on the first try this time, his hands have stopped shaking.

“But yeah, all my friends have children,” He says, “And it’s crazy when you think about it, right? One day you’re twenty-three, doing shots while dancing to a Bronski song and your friends are all around you, dressed in different versions of denim on denim because you’re all country bumpkins that arrived in the big city on a tractor.” A few people laugh loudly, Richie guess that he’s not the only small-town boy in this room, “And then, you’re forty-two, you have a baby and your husband has decided that you need to colour-code your entire life because, apparently, when you get a child you also get a coloured chore planning with Paws Patrol stickers as a complimentary gift. Some mornings I wake up and Eddie is standing next to me with my clothes in one hand and says _it’s yellow day_ and I end up looking like a bad cosplay of the sun baby in Teletubbies in front of paparazzi.”

“My friends Bev and Ben, you know them they’re like, the hottest couple in Hollywood right now, they have two sons. Two homemade sons, may I add, which means that they’re red-headed little angels who say _please_ and _thank you_ when they want something. It’s crazy, they’re the same age as my daughters, but when they want a cheese sandwich they say, _Uncle Richie, may we please have a cheese sandwich?”_ A few people go _aw_ , Richie gets it, the Hanscom twins have that power on people, “I know right? When Grace and Leia want food, they don’t say _please_ or _thank_ _you_ , sometimes they don’t even ask me, I’ll walk to the kitchen and they’ll be eating blocks of Gouda like they’re granola bars.”

He takes a sip of his water, “It sends Eddie into overdrive when the kids just start eating anything, he has long showers where he cries about the satanic powers of full-fat cheese and then comes out of them with twenty recipes of kale smoothies that will detox the devil out of our house.” That gets a few chuckles, “But don’t get me wrong, Eddie isn’t a strict dad, he’s pretty much the opposite of a strict dad. When we decided to adopt children, our friends were a little concerned that Eddie would become a controlling dad, maybe because his mom was pretty much the witch from Rapunzel and you know what they say about apples and trees and the apples that come from apple trees, all that fruit metaphor that doesn’t actually work with human beings.”

“Eddie isn’t a strict dad, he has narrow opinions about Pinterest crafts that he yells on Twitter, sure, but when it comes to our actual kids, they rule our house like little tyrants.” He puts his bottle down and continues, “Maybe I’m a psychic because Leia is pretty much an actual general of the resistance. She’s three years old but she’ll scheme attacks to get what she wants, it would be super impressive if it didn’t creep me the fuck out. This one time we were doing grocery shopping and she took this jar of pickled eggs that was pretty much the size of her head in her two chubby fists and she said _Papa, eggs!_ Which in toddler language, for people who don’t know, means _buy me the pickled eggs, pathetic father figure or I will wreak havoc in this store alley_.”

The low and menacing voice he takes to imitate his daughter gets a howl of laughter, “Now, if you’re like me, you’re probably wondering why a small girl wants fifty-five pickled eggs, and yeah, that’s a normal question to ask. But when I asked Leia that, she didn’t think so, because she threw herself on the ground, rolling like nobody’s business and that was kind of the sign, right? She must have planned it with her siblings because as soon as she started screaming, Grace yelled _FUCK_ and Dom burped all over himself, it was like a scene from the Exorcist.” 

“I want you all to imagine this very clearly, my son, puking on his own chest as my daughters scream insults at the old ladies passing by to get their whole wheat bread, and I want you to visualize my face there, because I’m pretty much terrified, I have no idea how to operate and I’m like _surely Eddie will know what to do_ .” He huffs, “Eddie didn’t not, in fucking fact, know what to do because he watched our daughter roll around with her jar of pickled eggs for two good minutes with the most smitten expression on his face I have ever seen, and he met Idris Elba before I’ve seen him _very_ smitten, and said _that’s a cool dance, Twinkle_. We’re at this level of Not-So-Strict-Dad.”

He waits for the laughter to stop but it continues and he smiles, content, “Yeah! It’s fucking crazy! Because if Eddie, the guy who analyze risks _for fun_ and does thirty sits-ups every morning, isn’t gonna be the strict one it means that _me_ , the dude who tells joke for a living and looks like the human form of Gonzo the Great, has to put his foot down and gets things in order.” He does jazz hands because he can, “I don’t know if you’ve followed this dumb fucking show, but my life is _not_ in order, it’s actually so out of order that I’m not sure what’s the date of today.” Someone screams it at the back of the room and he does a thumbs up, “Thanks, dude, but this was a way to say that, my malefic children all got a jar of pickled eggs each and that they still sit on the kitchen’s countertop because yeah, who the fuck eats pickled eggs?”

“Nobody eats pickled eggs! Not if you can avoid it, not if you’re not living in the official pickled eggs town! But my children just decided that we needed a hundred and sixty-five eggs in our home.” The laughter doesn’t die down anymore, “So I phoned my friend Mike, because he’s another guy who has his life in order, not at the Stan Uris level of _orderliness_ because that’s impossible, but Mike wears socks that match and he drinks the recommended amount of water in a day, so you know, a pretty balanced dude.”

“I call Mike and I say; _Mike, my man, my best boy, teach me how to say no to my kids_ .” He finishes his water, he doesn’t even feel the spotlight anymore, there’s just him and this stage, “Because Mike, he has two kids, a beautiful baby girl named Gigi who has his eyes and the smile of a thousand suns and a _beautiful_ husband named Bill who forgot how to send texts with emojis last week and needed to watch a Youtube tutorial about it.” He smirks, “It’s a true story, I could basically make an entire show on Bill Denbrough, but I feel like he could write a book about the time I burned my stove while making packaged popcorn so we’re keeping this fragile peace between us alive and I’ll just say that Bill is _unique_.”

The people on the front row are watching him closely, he winks at them, “Anyway, I asked Mike how I could keep a minimum of structure in my grocery shopping routine, because I couldn’t just stack my shelves of uneaten pickled eggs forever, that wouldn’t work on the long term and it’s kind of expected from parents to keep their kids for like, over two decades. I called Mike and I asked for advice, thinking he would have the secrets of parenting written down like a casserole recipe, right? Two tablespoons of kindness and all that sappy shit, but _no_ , Mike in all of his wisdom, was pretty much useless and only said _I’m sorry, Rich, we don’t have that many problems with Gigi_ .” A woman on his right giggles and he nods, “Yeah! I mean, first thing first, fuck you dude, don’t be so nice about how perfect your life is, I can’t get mad about it and two, please just come spread your general calming _Mikeness_ to my kids, one of them almost bit the mailman like a feral dog last weekend.”

He pauses then adds, “I swear they don’t have rabies, Eddie made sure of it.”

“I’ve been told that your kids are either polar opposites or carbon copies of their parents and for the longest of time, I thought that it was the first option with them, that they were just tiny demons and that I would just stay on Lexapro for the next eighteen years,” He sits back down again, a smile spreading on his face and continues, “Then, you know what? I remembered how Eddie and I used to not only set fire to stuff for fun sometimes, how I tried to smoke bamboo when I was thirteen because I thought it was weed and puked my guts and how Eddie tried to fistfight a table the first time he got drunk and I think, _yup_ , those three little brutes who put dogshit in my slippers are definitely my kids.”

He stands up, heart beating fast but happy, happier than he thought he would be when he started this show, “ _And I wouldn’t trade them for the world_.” He says, ecstatic “Goodnight Chicago, you were amazing!”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i'm like, maybe tempted to make a series about the losers as parents because i got weirdly attached to grace, leia, dom and the other rascals but also i'm writing a fix-it that is my biggest, most ambitious project to date so... stay tuned? thank you for reading and please please leave a comment that would mean the world!
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://starryspice.tumblr.com/) \- come yell with me, it's fun


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